


Wings of the Morning

by russ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Magic, Alternate Universe - Office, Draco cares a lot about fashion okay, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, affection through careful insults, agony aunt Pansy, engineer-approved technobabble, gratuitous mentions of upscale eateries, sassy Blaise Zabini, the universe runs on coffee and alcohol, this is 16 000 words and there are two (2) kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russ/pseuds/russ
Summary: Draco Malfoy really is not prepared to deal with Harry Potter wearing smokey eyeliner in the office first thing on Monday morning.  Everything sort of spirals from there.





	1. monday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sentientcitizen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentientcitizen/gifts).



> I wish I could say this was all Essie’s fault but unfortunately mine was the brain that provided the plot bunny so alas I can only truthfully say this is _mostly_ Essie’s fault. Partial blame also belongs to [lastontheboat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastontheboat) who is as good a beta reader as an enabler and he's unfortunately good at enabling
> 
> Working title: “Draco Malfoy and the Unexpected Eyeliner”

"Morning Weasley, Potter, Ginny, Granger," says Draco as he breezes in through the door. Potter is the one holding it open; the other three are obviously waiting to pass through it. They can wait a touch longer.

"You coming to McGonagall's meeting?" Potter asks.

Draco glances at him, tilts his chin up and sniffs. "It's Monday," he says, mouth on autopilot. "I have eight minutes."

"Seven now, mate," Weasley says, clapping him on the shoulder as he breezes past.

"See you then," Potter says, disappearing through the door.

Draco knows that he won't be late. It takes him five minutes to "settle in" and at most two to climb the stairs, allowing him to avoid the early morning elevator rush and leaving him with a full minute to get his breathing back under control before he has to actually talk to anyone. He sits down at his desk, eyes his coffee in its disposable cup, pulls out his laptop, and eyes the cup again.

"They didn't add the pump of caramel you don't admit to this morning?" Blaise asks, appearing beside his desk. Draco glances up from his contemplation. Blaise looks resplendent as always, today in a rich burgundy suit that really shouldn't work in their incubator-like office and yet somehow does. His eyes are lined in a subtle, shimmering black. Draco suspects Blaise would look similarly at home wearing that outfit in the bottom of a coal mine, or on Mars. It's obnoxious. He might secretly be magic but so far no one has managed to prove it.

"I think the barista spiked it," Draco says forlornly. "I hate being betrayed by my coffee. And McGonagall's meeting is in three minutes so I don't have time to get another one."

"It started three minutes ago," Blaise says agreeably. "What did they spike it with, peppermint?"

"Some sort of reality-altering drug," Draco replies. He takes a sip to see if he can taste it. "But it doesn't taste any different. Here."

He holds the cup out to Blaise who looks slowly between it and Draco’s face. "You want me to drink your allegedly spiked coffee." Blaise's mouth is smiling as he speaks but it somehow doesn't quite reach his voice. "Really Draco, I thought we were friends."

"Oh, right," says Draco, taking another sip as he opens his laptop before remembering the potential contamination. He puts the cup out of reach; when it comes to morning routines he finds muscle memory incredibly hard to break.

"What makes you think it was spiked?" Blaise asks as he makes space on Draco’s desk in order to lounge more effectively.

"It looked like Potter had eyeliner on when I walked past him at the elevator," Draco's mouth says, causing him to start and look at the coffee again. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. If he'd needed any further proof that the barista had put something unusual in his drink he had it. What had he done to deserve this? "Just a trick of the light, I'm sure."

"Well, we can confirm when we get to McGonagall's meeting," Blaise says, kicking himself back upright and shaking out the invisible creases in his jacket. Draco always feels there should be a swelling soundtrack as he does so. Some people had all the luck. "Come on, it's not like you to arrive fashionably late. Can't have you stealing my thunder."

"What do you mean fashionably late?" Draco asks. "We've still got... Shit."

***

McGonagall raises her eyebrow at them when they walk in. On any other day this alone would have been enough to make Draco want to shrivel up and disappear from the surface of the planet. Today he hardly registers her disapproval because Harry Potter, wunderkind of the coding world, has raised an eyebrow too. Underneath his eyebrow is one of those horrendously unfair bottle-green eyes, and between the two is… is…

Draco has to exercise quite a lot of self-restraint not to crush the coffee in his hand. There's a small huff of surprise from Blaise so it _can't_ be the coffee's fault that Draco is seeing what he's seeing. Potter's eyes are lined with a passable version of smokey eyeliner, the darker colour serving to highlight the green of his eyes. There's something _shimmery_ involved too, up just under his eyebrow and dabbed in at the corners by his nose. It's striking. It's very striking.

For the next hour Draco looks very very pointedly at the projection screen set up at the front of the conference room. Words and graphs pass in front of his eyes along with a couple images that are probably proof of concepts, or mockups for their newest client, but somehow none of it makes it to the part of his brain that deals with actually thinking. That section's undivided attention has been devoted to one problem and one problem only:

Why, _why_ , is Harry Potter wearing eye makeup?

The thing is, Draco muses, trying not to chew too hard on his lower lip, the thing is, Potter, by himself, is bad enough. Potter by himself is an absolute whiz with the computer, and while he might not be as good as Hermione Granger or Percy Weasley when it comes to sheer day to day production he has flashes of insight, intuitive leaps to problem solving, that leave the rest of them in the dust. He's electric, magnetic, with his heart on his sleeve and unabashed about the strength of his feeling on any topic. There's this glint in his eye he gets right before he settles in to a good long argument. Draco knows it well. It makes him a tiny bit weak in the knees.

And today, Draco realizes with a growing horror, today they have code review, and so he'll probably see that glint coming from between darkly-lined lids.

"You weren't wrong," Blaise says when McGonagall finally lets them out.

"I figured," Draco snaps.

"He pulls it off quite well, don't you think?" Blaise says, nodding in Potter's direction. Draco can't help but look, and to his horror Potter is looking straight back at them over Weasley's shoulder. They make eye contact. Draco fervently hopes for the sprinkler system to malfunction as things have suddenly become very warm. "Don't you think?" Blaise prompts again, as if he can't feel the weight of Potter's gaze.

"Ngrl," says Draco.

"It's a shame he's not upgraded the rest of himself to go with it."

"Erg?"

"His hair's still a mess," Blaise says, and Draco can't make his arms move fast enough to stop Blaise from pointing, there, in full view of at least half their team. Harry's nudged Weasley and Granger, who have joined Potter in staring at Draco and Blaise. "And look, ratty sweater, tatty t-shirt, ill-fitting kakhis, and are those _tennis shoes_? My my my, how gauche."

"He'll _hear_ you," Draco hisses.

"He _has_ heard you," says Potter, flatly. "Thanks for the fashion tips, Zabini."

"My pleasure," Blaise says, sweeping a low bow and tipping an imaginary hat. "I live to serve."

***

The rest of the day is no better. Draco has three more meetings with Potter, for a total of two hours, seven minutes, and thirty nine seconds spent awkwardly trying to avoid Potter's gaze. The few times anything feels remotely close to normal occur when Potter questions his decisions on any particular section of code and they quickly fall to arguing. The second time this happens Blaise, now serving as the project sponsor representative, does nothing to stop it. He _does_ mime eating a bowl of popcorn however. Draco decides on the spot to take his afternoon coffee break with Pansy instead.

***

As it turns out going on his coffee break with Pansy is a horrible idea. "Blaise says you've completely lost your marbles because Potter put on makeup," she says as they stand in the queue.

Draco's groan in response does nothing to deter Pansy. "Eloquent as always, my dear," she agrees. "And because it’s clear what the topic of conversation is going to be, you are buying my coffee _and_ a pain au chocolat."

Her pronouncement is enough to shake off some of the stupor Draco has sunk into. He doesn't manage it fast enough to avoid paying for her order however, and then reasons that if he's buying her a pastry he may as well buy himself some lemon loaf.

"He's wearing _eyeliner_ Pans," Draco sighs as they settle at one of the small tables set outside.He hasn’t even had a sip of coffee yet. "Everything else is the same: ratty clothes, ratty shoes, floppy hair, and then his _face_."

Things can't be too bad yet because Pansy merely begins tearing her pain au chocolat into bite-sized pieces and passing them in between her expertly made up lips. If anything the lack of reaction is unnerving - he can't tell if he should try and wait her out or plunge ahead. He hesitates, opens his mouth, and-- "Are you about to wax more rhapsodically than usual about the virtues of his eyes, and the way their new shape highlights his cheekbones or some rot like that?"

"No!" Draco says guiltily. "No! Definitely not. I was, uh..."

"You were."

"I was _going_ to say it was unsporting of Blaise to say anything to you," Draco speaks over her, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks and hearing the way his voice rises horribly higher. Despite his denials, he _might_ have thought that exact phrase earlier in the day, and others such as "his eyes are now the green that represents life itself" and "his eyelashes have to be at least an inch longer, possibly a mile, and every time he blinks they kiss his cheek softly and I want to feel them blinking against my neck" but he has enough self respect to not voice them aloud.

"Because you knew I would find out anyways since you wouldn't shut up about it? And now you've missed my reaction at the news?"

"Yes! Oh, no, no, because it just, er…." Pansy leans back and crosses her arms, clearly settling in to wait. It's unfair, really, how she's always right. "Oh alright, fine. But he looks _so good_ and I've had to sit in three meetings with him and-"

She dismisses his concerns with a flick of her fingers before separating another piece from her pastry. Draco realizes his own is still on his plate, untouched, and he hasn't even tasted his coffee. He hastily takes a sip and thankfully does not burn his tongue. "It's probably a one time thing. He was experimenting on the weekend for who knows what reason and forgot to wash it off."

That is not a visual that Draco needs: Potter in front of a mirror, staring at his own face as intently as he stares at his screen when there's a bug he's cracked and he only needs to make a few quick changes. Potter biting his lip as he tries hard not to blink, leaning over the counter… "Hmm?"

Pansy sighs. It sounds like she says something like "oh my god" under her breath which Draco magnanimously chooses to ignore. Instead he finds himself glaring at his lemon loaf as though _it_ is the reason Potter has taken all leave of his senses. "I _said_ he will probably decide it's too much effort tomorrow and go back to his normal, slovenly self."

Draco clings desperately to this prospect. The alternative is not worth contemplating.


	2. tuesday

Contrary to all reasonable expectation, Potter does not go back to his normal slovenly self on Tuesday. If, as Pansy says, he is experimenting, well… the experiment appears to be intensifying. Draco beats a strategic retreat. He can only call it that and not _fleeing_ because he remembers to undock his laptop and grab his wireless mouse before heading off at speed to the nearest stairwell.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" Potter asks, appearing around the corner. Draco skids to a halt, heart hammering in his chest. He looks _so good_ he-

"Privacy pods," he grits out. Potter's friendly smile dims. Draco wants to punch and/or kick himself but it is too early in the day, and he hasn't had more than three sips of coffee, and he simply isn't prepared to deal with this at the moment. "Found a bug. Need to focus on it."

"Figures," Potter says with a rueful laugh. "Listen, I'll catch you later then? Only I want to talk something over, about the patch you put in two weeks ago. I think there's a cross-site scripting vulnerability but I wanted to run it by you before I make the fix."

"Sure," Draco says, fixing his eyes on very carefully on a point just to the left of Potter's head. His normal tactic of looking at the blank space on the bridge of Potter's nose feels far too dangerous to even _attempt_ due to its close proximity to-

"Great," says Potter, his smile brightening, and Draco prays that this interaction will end before he becomes the first case of spontaneous human combustion, "We'll chat later then!"

"Yeah, alright," Draco replies automatically. Potter gives him a cheery wave before turning and walking away. Draco's eyes follow him. His mouth goes dry and it takes more than a few seconds to remind his body how to walk. When he finally manages it he catches Seamus looking at him funny. His blush deepens and he dashes for the stairs praying not to run into anyone else.

***

"Skinny jeans, Blaise!" Draco announces as he storms into Blaise's office and slides the door closed behind him. He wishes it were a normal door, so he could slam it properly, but none of the doors in this forsaken place can slam. At least Blaise _has_ a door, which gives Draco somewhere private to finish his breakdown. Or, at least, as private as you can get when at least half the walls are made of glass with translucent privacy screens tacked on. He settles for throwing himself into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk and burying his face in his hands.

"Good morning Draco, how are you?" Blaise asks pleasantly without looking up.

"Skinny jeans!" Draco repeats, to ensure that Blaise fully appreciates the depths of the catastrophe. "And some chunky knit cardigan that has _elbow patches_ on it! And _more makeup_ , as though everything else weren't already enough!" Draco waves his hands in the air in the vicinity of his torso, unable to form any more articulate thoughts about the "everything else" situation.

Blaise closes his leather bound folio, carefully recaps his fountain pen, adjusts his cufflinks in a way that makes his watch flash and leans forward so Draco cannot avoid his dark eyes, lined today in a subtle brown. Draco counts his lucky stars that Potter's attempts are nowhere near this good. Blaise looks so cool, so calm, so naturally Business, that Draco hates him on principle.

"As amusing as I find it to see you flustered like this, why are you here?"

"Pansy isn't in yet," Draco grumbles, "And you have a door, and I needed to tell someone."

"Hmm," Blaise says, frowning.

"And his _eyes_ ," Draco says before he can stop himself. "He went and used dark green eye shadow today, just a bit in the corners, and you hardly even notice how hideous his glasses are because all you can see-"

"Yes, Draco, I got it, thanks," Blaise interrupts. "But what do you want me to _do_ about it?"

"Let me hide out here for a while?" He meant it to come out sure and confident, and instead it comes out pleading. "Only you know he doesn't come up here since he's-"

"Allergic to the Business," he and Blaise say in unison.

"And I really do have stuff to work on?"

Draco holds up his laptop as proof.

Blaise considers it. Draco tries not to appear pitiful but from the way the sharp line of Blaise's mouth softens he's not sure he manages it. Well, beggars can't be choosers, and in this case he is most certainly a beggar.

***

His morning is not exactly what you might call productive. Blaise comes and goes, more meetings in his morning than Draco has in three days, but he hardly registers on the list of the Top Ten Things Distracting Draco. The list is as follows:

10\. He forgot his good headphones downstairs, which means that he can hear the hiss of the air circulation, the mutter of unfamiliar voices, the occasional bursts of punchy laughter as business people laugh to each other about their jokes that aren't actually that funny.

9\. Pansy is sending him messages on their office messenger app, asking why he's hiding, accurately guessing that it's Potter's fault, and badgering him until he reveals what, exactly, has assaulted his eyes this time. After that he gets a new picture of models in cardigans and skinny jeans every fifteen minutes for the rest of the morning. He suspects she's automated the process. He's not sure if he should be impressed that she did so, given she is mostly responsible for graphics, or disappointed that he didn't foresee this as a possible outcome.

8\. The person on the floor who is also wearing skinny jeans and walking past Blaise's office regularly. Draco knows it isn't Potter, he checked after the third time he saw the legs pass by, but that doesn't stop them from derailing his train of thought every time he sees them.

7\. Vince and Greg arguing in their group chat about whose turn it had been to run the dishwasher the night before. Draco finally says he doesn't much care as long as one of them runs it before _he_ gets home, and that he'll even empty it if it will get them to stop texting.

 _**Vince [10:49]:** _ _u could mute ur phone u kno_

 _**Greg [10:49]:** _ _*you *your *you *know_

 _**Draco [10:50]:** _ _JUST. THREE. MINUTES. PLEASE._

 _**Vince [10:51]:** _ _som1 isn a Mood_

 _**Greg [10:51]:** _ _Pansy says it's Potter's fault_

 _**Vince [10:51]:** _ _wen isnt it_

Draco needs better roommates.

6\. The person on the floor who is just tall enough that Draco can glimpse the messy mop of black hair covering their head over the privacy screen on the glass walls. He checked - this one isn't Potter either.

5\. His coffee runs out and going to get another one seems an insurmountable task. He'd have to leave the safety of Blaise's office for one thing, with the potential for Potter to appear around any number of corners en route between the office and the cafe. It's best to stay where he is, but it does get harder and harder to concentrate. He tries to stave it off with the free "coffee" available from the machines in the kitchen but he thinks the word "coffee" in quotes for a reason. It is to _real_ coffee what "vegan cheese product" is to a proper cheddar.

4\. The colour of green of his text when he's coding matches Potter's eyes. He wonders how he never noticed before, and tries to keep working for a full ten minutes before he decides to try and figure out how to change that. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time consulting Google to manage it.

3\. Ron, in an office email with Potter dropped off, reminding everyone that they're celebrating Potter's birthday on Friday after the client celebration for the launch of their new enterprise productivity and analytics portal. Draco knows for a fact the client meeting is the kind of client meeting where everyone is expected to dress up, and they get two free drink tickets when they walk in. He also knows that it's very easy to get more than two free drink tickets if you can identify the execs (which he can) and can schmooze them (which he can, and Blaise can even better). Going out after that for a birthday will lead to a very messy night. Given that it's Potter's birthday he suspects he will need a messy night.

2\. The Incident Management team, who couldn't find their backsides with both hands. The change is _out of warranty_ which means that the completely obscure edge case a client found because of their custom designed interface's weird APIs is _their problem to fix_ , not his. He has his own projects to deploy, thank you very much, and they are not helping.

1\. Harry himself, who initiates conversation no less than four times (A link to a buzzfeed article on what kind of city you are based on what your note-taking style is; a comment on needing a Blaise-to-normal-person dictionary while he's in a client meeting; a comment about not seeing Draco at their normal Coffee Break Time; asking whether or not they are still on for this afternoon).

"I really didn't need this this week," Draco moans when he gets that last message, hitting his head gently against Blaise's desk a few times before simply leaving it there.

"Still alive then?" Blaise asks, sitting heavily in his chair so it spins around once before stopping, perfectly, in front of his desk.

"Mostly," Draco says. "But I've had no coffee-"

"You didn't try to drink the stuff in the kitchen did you?"

Draco scoffs. "I'm not _that_ desperate."

"Good," grunts Blaise. "Now, you're going to take me out for lunch as repayment for using my office this morning, and then I've got a mentoring circle, and a business meeting, and-"

"I get it, I get it," sighs Draco. "No hiding out here after lunch."

"At least you admit it's hiding," Blaise says. "Up and at'em, Draco. I want to try the new duck pasta at Painter's."

***

There is no hiding from Potter after he gets back from lunch, his wallet lighter and his stomach a painful combination of too much food and too many nerves. Almost as soon as he's through the door and at his desk Potter appears, his green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Ready then?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," says Draco, unprepared for when Potter chuckles, low and warm. It does something to his stomach. If he didn't already feel like throwing up it probably would have been pleasant; instead Draco is horrified to feel his palms start to sweat.

How exactly he survives the first ten minutes are a mystery to Draco. He keeps making the mistake of glancing over at Potter and getting distracted by his eyes, and the way his cardigan emphasizes the line of his shoulder instead of hiding it under a drape of baggy sweater, and the way he ruffles his hair back from his forehead when he's thinking to reveal brief glimpses of his scar before his hair falls forward again.

The next ten minutes are slightly better after they start getting into technical details, and Draco has an excuse not to look at Potter when he's speaking without being rude. Just his luck that Potter's problem is both interesting _and_ likely caused by his change after all. He lets himself sink into the back and forth that comes with solving something and the knot in his stomach loosens. A half hour later, when they've hashed out a basic strategy to ensure all untrusted inputs are validated, he starts to wonder what he was so worked up about.

"Thanks, mate," Potter says, clapping him on the shoulder while he stands, "Listen, I'm going to grab a coffee, let me buy you one? You saved me _hours_."

"Of course," Draco agrees readily. "It's only right you pay tribute to your betters when they assist. Glad you haven't forgotten your manners."

Potter laughs, and Draco turns to grin at him, and it's only then he remembers that Potter doesn't look like Potter right now, Potter looks like some fashion editor's idealized catwalk/runway model version of Potter, and he's just agreed to spend, at minimum, twenty additional minutes in his company without the help of a code problem to distract him.

"C'mon then, your highness, let's make sure you receive your due."


	3. wednesday

Draco dreads what Wednesday will bring. He loiters in the kitchen of his apartment for a while, fussing with the leftovers from last night to delay his inevitable departure for the office and equally inevitable opportunity to make a fool of himself in front of Potter. The most frustrating part is that he'd had it under control! He'd squashed all his messy feelings and impulses into the steel box in his mind labelled "do not under _any circumstances_ date coworkers because that's a horrible idea" and welded the top shut.

"Aren't you going to be late?" asks Greg, stumbling in to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes free of sleep and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

Draco yelps and jumps in surprise, hurriedly shoving the lid back on the container as though he'd been rushing the whole time and not carefully swirling the pasta so it would look nice when he opened it later. "Got a late start," he lies.

"No you didn't," Greg replies through a yawn, going to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. He unscrews the cap, catches Draco's eye, and gets a glass out of the cupboards. "Showered same time as always."

"Are you _spying_ on me?" Draco demands as he throws his lunch unceremoniously in his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

Greg is unfortunately good at delivering flat looks. He gives one to Draco now, before turning to pour his orange juice into the cup. "You sing," he says tonelessly and takes a drink.

"I do not!"

Greg considers it a while, head tilting slightly from side to side, before he makes a decision. "That's true," he says, and Draco has only a heartbeat to feel vindicated before Greg continues "I'm not sure anyone would call it singing. Yowling, maybe?" Draco continues to gape at him. "It was the song about gold magic or whatever this morning."

"I'm going to the office now," Draco announces.

"You do that," Greg says. "Send Potter my love."

"And mine!" says Vince, appearing down the hall. "Greg, why didn't you _say_ we were going to drag Draco this early, you know I would've got up for it!"

***

"Nice of you to join us Malfoy," says Neville as Draco swans into the office at least an hour past his usual time.

"Delay on the tube," he says happily, and then remembers that delays on the tube are supposed to be bad things, not things that can help him postpone the time when Potter will afflict his eyes.

"What, and someone gave you a quickie in the crowd?" Neville asks, grinning.

"I liked you better when you were scared of me," Draco grumbles as he walks past Neville and toward his desk.

"You like everyone better when they're scared of you," Neville agrees. "Should never have agreed to go on the ropes course."

"We agreed we wouldn't ever bring that up!"

Neville raises his hands in a gesture of surrender but his face is not the face of someone feels bad for their actions at all. "‘Mandatory event,'" Neville quotes, "‘All employees to attend.'"

"Exactly right." Draco sniffs, and takes a sip of his coffee. "Now, _if_ you'll excuse me, I've got an hour of work to catch up on."

Pansy messages him before he even has his email open.

 _**Pansy [09:53]:**_ _Seen Potter?_

He doesn't bother to reply, opting to sort his emails first.

 _ **Pansy [09:55]:**_ _I know you've read it_

Draco keeps sorting through his email, flagging some for follow up, putting others in their various folders, saving the best phishing emails to be savoured later.

 _ **Pansy [09:58]:**_ _well fine, be that way. Blaise says you owe him lunch, so you're taking us to Benebowes_.

This cannot be ignored.

 **Draco [09:58]:** _I took him for lunch yesterday!_

 _ **Pansy [09:59]:**_ _Take it up with him, otherwise see you at 1pm SHARP. Booking in your calendar already_.

It is, too, from one to two thirty, entitled "Offsite teambuilding exercise" which means that this lunch might get expensive for Draco. On the other hand he _has_ wanted to try Benebowse, and an offsite teambuilding exercise will keep him away from the office, and away from Potter, for at least that long.

 _**Draco [10:00]:** _ _Fine_

 **Draco[10:00]:** _Now, let me work!_

***

His morning is surprisingly productive and blessedly free of any Potter-shaped bodies. He can't avoid Potter completely of course - email exists, and they're working on overlapping projects - but he can and does banish the question of "Is he wearing anything new today" from his mind. Even discounting the interruption to attend an incredibly dry security meeting as the subject matter expert and nearly crying from boredom, he is actually productive.

He gets in the zone, headphones settled over his ears, and realizes he's been staring at his screen for almost a solid hour, no interruptions, when someone snaps his headphones on his head.

Pansy and Blaise stand behind him, Pansy wearing a pencil skirt and blouse, Blaise sporting another of his suits. Both have subtle but distinctly there, almost matching eyeliner and makeup. If he didn't know they wore it daily he might think they were teasing him. They could very well be models for some stock-image sites that specialize in highly stylized office workers. Draco feels almost slovenly by comparison.

"Lunch," Pansy announces imperiously.

"Yes, lunch, right," says Draco, surfacing from the depths of uninitialized variables and structured logging and patting his pants to find his wallet. Pansy holds it out for him. "Oh, thanks," he says, and glances around for his phone. Blaise has it.

Draco scowls. "You do know that I'm an adult, right?" he asks as he leads them toward the doors to the elevators. "And can be trusted to wash and dress myself?"

"Are we sure about that though?" asks Pansy, opening the door first and glaring at the two of them until they walk meekly through. Pansy has strong opinions about being allowed to hold doors open for her colleagues that some, especially those who were older and male, had a hard time adjusting to. "I heard you were an hour late getting to the office- oh, hello then."

Potter, Granger, the Weasleys and Neville echo variations on the theme of ‘hello’ and Draco nods but doesn't quite manage words. Potter has eyeliner on again, and Draco has a brief moment to wonder when, if ever, that will stop rendering him breathless before he registers the rest of the outfit. What sticks out first is the bow tie, a rich green that brings out his eyes in ways that are frankly criminal, nigh immoral when paired with the eyeshadow. As if that isn't enough he's wearing a tweed vest over his crisp white button down shirt and a pair of slim khaki pants.

"You're right," he hears Pansy whisper as though she is a very long way away. "It _is_ fun to see in person."

Potter looks for all the world as though he has walked here across the moors in some historical romance, except with better hair product that is currently keeping his mass of curly hair piled high on his head and gelled in place, revealing his scar. It's incredibly disconcerting given Potter almost always tries to keep it covered but the look he's giving the three of them dares them to comment on it. Draco isn't sure he could speak even if he wanted to.

The elevator announces its arrival in a cool voice and they pile in, with Draco making sure to position himself as far away from Potter as he can. He does not want to know is if Potter has gone and added perfume or cologne or anything else scented to his apparently ever expanding list of things he might wear now. That way lies madness.

"Are you dressed up as a dandy today then, Potter?" asks Blaise conversationally. Draco watches the floor numbers tick down. His attempts to will them to change faster are unsuccessful.

"I rather like the vest, actually," Potter says, smoothing the sides down a touch. The motion is slightly self-conscious but he still pulls it off. It's… it's a good look on him. Draco swallows and fixes his eyes back on the floor numbers. 5, 4... "Seamus lent it to me for today, but I'm thinking of getting one of my own. What'd'you think?"

"Makes you look like a tosser," Weasley says promptly.

"Oh it looks great Harry," says Hermione, jabbing her elbow into Ron's side. "Just because _he's_ jealous he can't pull off anything like this doesn't mean you have to-"

The elevator dings and the doors open. Draco ducks out quickly, releasing the breath he's been holding, and steps smartly through the crowd in the hall until it opens into the lobby to wait for Blaise and Pansy.

"Where're you off to?" Potter asks as the mass of the group catches up to him.

"Benebowse," Draco answers, this time deciding that a staring contest with the floor is a safe way to avoid meeting Potter's gaze. He was wrong. He hadn't noticed before that Potter was wearing a set of bright green argyle socks that match his bowtie and eyes. He hadn't even known that Potter owned socks that weren't black.

"Us too!" says Potter, "Heard it was good, and Ginny's been wanting to go since forever."

"But did you _see_ what their burgers look like?" Ginny asks, a rapturous expression on her face.

"Well come along then," Blaise says before Draco gets the chance to formulate a response, sweeping into the lead. "We should be on the tail end of the rush; I'm sure they will have space for a larger party."

***

"Oh this is _perfect_!" Ginny claps her hands gleefully. "Harry, look, you'll fit right in!"

Much to Draco's consternation she's right. The brew-pub has a throwback vibe, with the waiters and hosts wearing vests and slacks and shirts with the sleeves rolled up and in some cases cravats. The ceiling is supported by heavy wooden beams, the tables dark wood, the lights dim and intimate save a few spots where sun streams in through the skylights. The bar looks as though it might have come out of the same historic drama as Potter's outfit. Off on the side Draco can see the vats where the beer is brewed gleaming copper, with workers dressed like Potter wandering around checking dials and tapping things.

"Er," says Potter, the self-assuredness melting away so only the self-consciousness remains. "Ah-"

"Food first," Weasley says firmly. "Whatever plan you're cooking after."

"But Ron!" Ginny protests, sounding for all the world like a younger sister arguing with an overbearing older brother.

"Food. First. Ah, hello, yes, table for eight please?"

***

Draco hardly tastes his food.

"I could possibly marry this ravioli," declares Neville after his first few bites.

Granger hums happily. "So many places put too much salt in their soup, but this one is almost perfect!"

Draco takes another bite of his fish and chips, still not tasting them. How can he, when Potter is sitting across the table looking down at his green curry with such a besotted expression it hurts to see. Draco had _tried_ to sit at the other end of the table but Pansy had all but forced him down to this side and now he keeps losing the train of the conversation.

Pansy and Ginny, sitting at the other end, have been whispering to each other for a few minutes. Draco can't help but feel apprehensive. The two of them are very similar in many ways and he's had reason to be glad they don't work closely together regularly. He suspects their combined wills would be too formidable to counteract.

Sure enough, by the time the plates are mostly empty Ginny squeals "Oh look Harry they even have _flatcaps_. Go on - try one on!"

"What?" says Harry, looking up from his careful contemplation of the last few bites on his plate.

"Flatcaps!" Ginny says again, pointing at the man tending the bar. "Come on, put one on and let's have a picture."

"What?" says Harry again, but Ginny has already stood up and dashed over to the bar, her long red hair streaming out behind her. Draco gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, especially as Ginny stays talking to the barman for a few minutes after the barman laughs and hands his hat over.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Harry says, nudging Draco's foot with his own under the table. "What say we make a break for it?"

It feels very highschool to flush at the use of ‘we’ in that sentence but Draco can't help his thin, pale skin. "I'd say," he starts, but he doesn't get any farther before Ginny is bounding back, cramming the hat on Harry's head.

"Oi!" yelps Harry, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. "Watch the hair!"

Weasley and Granger burst into laughter, and Pansy says "Things I never thought I'd hear Potter say," in a voice of wonder.

"Oh hush, you have enough gel in there it would probably last through a bomb blast. Now c'mon, Oliver says we can take pictures in with the decor."

"What?" Draco and Harry speak at the same time, with the same flat tone. Draco can feel Blaise smirking without even having to look at him.

What follows is perhaps even more excruciating than the lunch had been in terms of clinging to his sanity and dignity. Ginny starts out as photographer, directing Potter to stand leaning against this, look as though he's reading those dials, and snapping away happily while the few patrons still there look on with mild curiosity. Potter appears incredibly uncomfortable to start with, but as the staff drift over and make enthusiastic suggestions for high-fashion model style posing he gets properly, horribly, into the spirit of things.

Before long he's laughing delightedly, green eyes sparkling behind his glasses, before going absolutely stone-faced and posing dramatically draped over this or sneering down at that. Blaise, unable to help himself, takes up residence just over Ginny's shoulder and what starts as gentle direction for framing quickly becomes Potter having not one but _two_ people taking pictures and barking out directions.

"Well, let’s see ‘em then," Oliver says when he wanders out from behind the bar, and Draco hangs back so he's on the edge of the group, ostensibly disinterested in seeing the results. As the oohs and delighted laughter increase in frequency and volume he can't help but look over for a few of them. He wishes he hadn't.

They are good. They are really, _really_ good, and he places at least a third of the blame on whoever it was who decided that phone cameras needed to rival entry level DSLRs. The other two thirds are split evenly between Oliver, for agreeing to go along with Ginny's scheme, and Ginny herself, for suggesting it.

"Looks like the pub has some new menu headers," Draco says when they see a particularly offensive photograph: Potter in profile above dials, looking off camera, eyes lit green by a streak of sunlight coming in through a skylight, his warm brown skin gilded gold along the edges, in focus while the pipes and dials and vats behind him are slightly blurry.

"Looks like," Oliver says, laughing, and to Draco's horror he and Blaise exchange contact information right there, like the others can't see it happening. Potter groans and buries his face in his hands but not before Draco sees his grin. Draco notices that, like Blaise, he completes the gesture being careful not to smudge the makeup around his eyes.

***

It's lucky that his morning was so productive because after lunch? After lunch he can't get his brain to focus long enough to decide if he wants to get a coffee or not. Any time he manages to follow a thought for longer than thirty seconds his mind somehow seems to wrap back around to Potter.

 **Blaise [16:04]]:** _I've got something you might want to see_

Draco eyes the message in thr private chat between he, Blaise and Pansy with trepidation.

 _**Pansy [16:04]:** _ _Is it related to the Top Secret Project you kicked me out of your office for?_

 _**Blaise [16:05]:** _ _Maybe_

 _ **Blaise [16:07]**_ _foodforthought1.jpg foodforthought2.jpg foodforthought3.jpg_

Draco considers leaving them as thumbnails. Even as thumbnails he can see Potter's slim figure silhouetted against the beer brewing supplies, although now there's branding for Benebowse tastefully incorporated.

 _ **Blaise [16:08]:**_ _I made these for your benefit Draco, don't even think about ignoring them_.

 _**Draco [16:08]:** _ _You are four floors up!_

 **Draco [16:08]:** _How do you do that?_

What he receives in reply are two strings of emoji, combinations of face palms and laughter from both Pansy and Blaise.

 **Draco [16:09]:** _I hate you both_.

 **Pansy [16:09]:** _open the pictures_

His resolved crumbling in the face of inevitability, Draco does so. He doesn't know why he bothered trying to fight it. The pictures are just as bad as he feared they would be: the first one features Potter leaning over something and looking over his shoulder, his jaw lit from the back and looking sharp enough to cut paper, the second is of him carefully monitoring a dial, his chin tilted up to reveal the long line of his throat and the third one…

Potter is smouldering at the camera. Draco didn't realize Potter _knew_ how to smoulder, but the evidence is staring him in the face. Draco decides at that moment that he is done work for the afternoon. He is possibly done work for the week, except he agreed to finish collecting statistics by Friday.

 **Draco [16:12]:** _You are the absolute worst I don't know why I associate with you._

Blaise sends him back a kissy face.


	4. thursday

"Pansy!" Draco says on Thursday morning. His trousers are wet from the knee down, his socks no better, and he's still wearing his raincoat, but he squelches up to her desk anyways. Pansy holds up a finger, phone pressed to her ear. "Pansy I can _see_ that you aren't actually on a call." He points at the screen of her desk phone, which is asking her to please dial the number she's trying to reach.

Pansy sighs and puts it back in its cradle. "Well it was worth a shot."

"Do you think I can't recognize your handiwork?" Draco demands, crossing his arms and glaring down at her.

"You're dripping on my desk," she points out.

"Don't avoid the question," Draco says, pointing an accusing finger.

She turns back to her computer nonchalantly. "Oh, did you ask one?"

"Do you deny helping Potter?"

At least Pansy has the good grace to blush.

"You did help him!" Draco carefully and calmly does not shout, sitting judgmentally on the edge of her desk and ignoring her protests. "You aren't supposed to be helping him!

"The rain wrecked it!" Pansy protests. "Look, he didn't invest in the good stuff, didn't have any fixer, and it went and smudged all over the place so I-"

"So you helped him _wing his eyeliner_."

"He just looked so sad!" Pansy's gaze turns suddenly sharp. "How did you know it was me?"

Draco delivers his best flat look but she appears unperturbed. "As though I wouldn't recognize your signature style. What kind of friend do you take me for?"

She reaches up and pats his cheek. "You are a sweet boy, aren't you? But if you don't get your arse off my desk in the next three seconds I'll… I'll show him how to use highlighter on his cheekbones."

Draco springs to his feet. He's only just managing to hold it together for winged eyeliner. He doesn't want to see what the fallout would be from emphasizing Potter's cheekbones, which are already high and sharp and beautiful.

Pansy looks at him consideringly. "Is that… is it just the eyeliner today?"

The way she's phrased the question makes Draco instantly suspicious. "What else should there be?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she says, in tones that clearly indicate there is in fact something else, and that she's looking forward to his impending mental breakdown. "Now go away, some of us have real work to do."

***

Draco figures out what Pansy was referring to during his morning coffee break and is frankly astonished that she managed to refrain from laughing in his face for missing it. Potter, Granger, and Weasley are several groups ahead of him in the coffee line holding a dripping golf umbrella and Draco spends the entirety of the wait to get to the register staring at the long sweep of Potter's neck into a soft, clinging shirt in a delicate green that drapes in an incredibly soft-looking way every time he moves. By the time it's his turn to pay he's so distracted he accidentally orders Blaise's drink instead of his own and he's faced with the choice of either admitting he made a mistake because he was distracted or drinking down the unsweetened, unappetizing, incredibly strong coffee.

He decides to try and fix it himself using the free sugar in the kitchen. Surely the building management can't wreck the free sugar the way they can their ‘coffee’. He sets his cup with Blaise's order on the island of counter separating the kitchen part from the dining part and starts his hunt for the sugar in among the ‘coffee’-related paraphernalia.

The packages of sugar are in a jar helpfully labelled ‘sugar’, and he pulls out five of them as a reasonable place to start. He tears the tops off grimly and dumps the sugar unceremoniously into the cup, stirring with a wooden stirring stick before sampling the concoction. It's still too bitter so he goes back for more sugar, and when he turns around again it's to find Potter standing on the other side of the counter.

He yelps in surprise, nearly dropping the sugar. "You're drinking the stuff from that machine?" Potter asks incredulously, inclining his head in the appropriate direction, and Draco feels his heart stop. Potter's winged eyeliner is still miraculously sharp, the points disappearing at exactly the right angle to make his eyes look large and vulnerable. The incredibly soft shirt isn't just incredibly soft - it's also cut with a scoop neck, revealing the sharp jut of Potter's collarbones and highlighting the dip of his Plender gap in ways his usually ratty t-shirts certainly did not. Draco can't quite decide where he wants to look, or look away from, and somehow ends up landing on Potter's throat as a theoretically safer target.

"Forgot the sugar," Draco says. Potter chuckles and Draco swallows. It turns out his throat was not a safe place to fix his gaze.

"It's the weather," Potter says sagely, sitting on one of the bar stools on his side of the counter and leaning forward. Draco hopes fervently that somewhere someone has predicted the end of the world for today, and that they were right, because he's not sure if he's going to survive this near-Potter experience. "Ron forgot his wallet up here before tea, and Ginny forgot her lunch at home."

"Hmg." It's not really a word, but it is the best Draco can do under the circumstances. He's mostly proud he managed to make any sound at all. Breathing has become difficult.

"Do you think that's going to work?" Potter asks, nodding at the sugar in Draco's hands. Draco realizes he paused halfway through tearing open the packages to watch the play of the fluorescent light over Potter's skin as he moves. No one looks good under the lights of their office, excepting Blaise of course, and now, to Draco's consternation, Potter.

"It hasn't so far," he admits, when he remembers how to speak.

"Try try again?" Potter laughs again and Draco closes his eyes and thanks everything he can think of thanking that no one has invented mind reading technology. He must keep his eyes closed for too long because Potter asks "Everything alright?" with such concern in his voice it's almost heartbreaking. "You look-"

"Just surprised, is all," Draco says, surprising himself, and as he scrambles to come up with a way to pivot the conversation accidentally continues "This is uh, ah, a different look for you, so I-"

"Gin suggested it," Potter admits, cheeks and ears flushing pink. Now would be the time for a fire drill, Draco thinks, because he would very much like the distraction of something loud and unignorable to get him out of the situation. If he can't escape soon he won't be held responsible for what happens next. "I… I don't think I'll be trying it again."

"Shame," Draco's traitor mouth says.

"What?" says Potter.

"Shame," Draco says, and this time he manages to wrest back control of his tone, and injects it with just the right amount of ‘taking the piss’ to say what he means without giving offence. "It really highlights your teeth."

"You think?" Potter asks, baring them in a blazing smile, and Draco wishes with every fibre of his being he had said something different, like ears, perhaps, or feet.

"Yes," he says, because in for a penny in for a pound. "And your left eyebrow, and your right pinkie.."

There had been tension in Potter's shoulders, Draco realizes, as he watches it melt away. "Well, considering those are my best features, maybe I'll have to steal the shirt from Ginny after all."

"Her never ending wrath is worth the investment in this shirt," Draco says truthfully because he knows Potter will read it as a joke. It's worth sounding a touch foolish to see Potter laughing.

"Good luck with your coffee," Potter says, standing. He wavers where he stands and Draco can practically see the wheels turning in his head. There's something he wants to say and Draco isn't about to interrupt. Finally his shoulders slump forward and he rubs the back of his neck. "And, listen, thanks for not laughing. Ron… well, Ron-"

"Is not always the most tactful or fashion forward," Draco finishes diplomatically.

"Yeah," says Potter, quiet, and Draco finds himself wishing he could punch Weasley without Potter giving him a disappointed look. It is not the first time he's felt this way. "Hermione helped me sort him out but… you know…"

"Yeah," Draco says. "Yeah, I do."

Potter grins and gives a half wave before disappearing from the kitchen. Draco looks down at the disappointing coffee and sighs before dumping it in the sink. After… after _that_ he deserves another coffee, one that doesn't taste like swill.

***

"I'm going to die an early death," Draco moans, resting his head carefully on his desk.

"You're not going to die," says Blaise, the most unsympathetic of friends. "You're experiencing feelings. We all get them sometimes."

"I'm too young to die," Draco continues, embracing his misery. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Fine, die if you must," sighs Blaise, "But I'd advise you to postpone it until _after_ the party tomorrow. Do you really want to miss out on whatever delightful outfit this new, improved Potter will inflict on us all?"

Draco had almost forgotten about the party tomorrow, thoughts of Potter's collarbones having successfully driven every other thought out of his head. He considers his options. Dying early would take a lot of effort and planning on his part. Simply staying here, at his desk, alive, takes far less effort. "Fine," he agrees dejectedly, not at all because he is curious about Potter's completely theoretical outfits and entirely because he is lazy. "Fine. I will put off dying until Saturday."

"Don't forget to update your calendar," Blaise says by way of ‘goodbye’ as he walks away. Draco really needs better friends.


	5. friday

Friday does not dawn with a lot of promise. Vince somehow wakes and drags himself out of bed and into the shower during what is normally Draco's timeslot, so he's already feeling under pressure when he discovers that the suit he'd intended to wear is not in his closet. He chews his lip momentarily before opting for the fancier of the two options he has remaining but that means he needs to select new accessories, choose a new shirt, and polish his shoes.

He feels quite accomplished when he manages to emerge from his room only half an hour behind schedule. Unfortunately Greg decides this is the best time to ask if the fact that he's all dressed up means he finally worked up the nerve to ask Potter out. Draco feels that his perhaps curt, loud response is justified under the circumstances but adds ‘buy apology pastries from the good french bakery’ to his list of things to do on Saturday anyways. He walks as quickly as he dares to the tube, pausing to check his reflection in the glass of one of the shops on his way to ensure that everything has stayed in place.

He blessedly doesn't lose any more time on his way to the office and makes it to his desk with no more than the usual ribbing a late arrival receives. Everyone is dressed up for the party and chatting amiably over the partitions between their desks. He can already tell that no one plans on getting any work done this morning, so he finishes up his final slide, hits send on his email, and wanders over to bother Pansy.

"Have an interview?" she asks, hardly glancing at him.

"Please, this is how I always dress," he answers, leaning against the edge of her desk to peer around at her screen. "What're you up to?"

"Balloon tower defense," she answers, placing another tower along the path of the virtual map. It's clear from the quantity and complexity of the other towers Draco can see that she's been playing it for a while.

"Let's go get coffee," he says, "No one will care, it's not like they expect us to get any work done."

"I am _playing_ balloon tower defense," Pansy says as though that is an answer. "You can't ask me to abandon my people in their time of need."

"Your virtual people," Draco corrects as she hits ‘deploy’ and the balloons start their inevitable march towards destruction. He holds out as long as he can before adding "And your next upgrade should be another tracker, right here."

That's how he ends up wiling away an hour with Pansy in front of the screen, then another with Neville and Ginny after they drift by to see what the commotion is about. They are all yelling "Nononono!" at the screen when McGonagall's unmistakable voice asks what, exactly, they think they're doing.

"Protecting the citizens of our village," Ginny answers promptly, unabashed, while Neville squeaks and tries to duck behind Pansy's chair.

McGonagall is kitted out too, in a tartan sheath dress that reaches her very respectable knees, and she raises one well-manicured eyebrow at them. Draco tries to make sure the very uncomfortable way his stomach is squirming is not visible on his face. "It's lovely to see employees who are so dedicated to their work," McGonagall says, voice so dry that any trace of humour would be undiscoverable. "But the bus is here, if you're ready."

They scatter, Draco running back to his desk to unplug his phone, now fully charged, and grab his wallet. When he reaches the elevator vestibule he spots one already headed to the ground floor and rushes over, thrusting his hand forward and trusting the elevator's safety protocols are working properly.

"You training for the olympics?" asks the lone occupant of the elevator. Draco wonders at the familiarity in his tone before his brain puts together the various bits that are familiar (eyes behind glasses, long throat, slight smirk, ears that stick out just a touch) and realizes with a sinking feeling that this man in front of him is none other than the dreaded Potter himself.

Draco's brain shorts out halfway through its valiant attempt to catalogue all the indignities facing him. The eyeliner and mascara are there _again_ , subtle this time, doing nothing more than emphasizing Potter's already dark lashes. His glasses are different though, no longer the thin personality-free wire frames but instead the bold, chunky, thick plastic frames that grace the front pages of magazines and faces of celebrities. They change the shape of Potter's face completely, and combined with the styled hair and _suit_ , good lord the suit! It's been expertly tailored, making Potter's usually thin, lanky frame into something that looks broad and solid with a tapered waist and narrow hips. Instead of being the standard blue, grey, or black the suit is a deep forest green. Even his _shoes_ are shined.

"Uh, Draco?" Potter says, waving his hand in front of Draco's eyes.

"Wow," Draco breathes, and Potter's face flickers to something like confusion before Draco can reboot his conversation centres and add "You look utter shit." It's not his best quip but he feels under the circumstances he has to be lenient with himself.

"As do you," Potter says, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. He reaches up to rub uncomfortably at the back of his neck and Draco can see the flash of gold at his wrists matches the tie pin holding his emerald tie in place.

"I didn't know you owned a suit," Draco admits. "Crap purchase there. Your t-shirts would've been much more appropriate."

Potter must hear the compliment because unless Draco is seeing things (which, to be fair, he might be, because Potter is a _vision_ ) he blushes. "Might be a recent acquisition," he admits. "Didn't want to outclass everyone else too badly, thought I'd go for something subtle, off the rack, you know."

Draco did know, as a matter of fact. Draco knew exactly what off the rack suits looked like, especially for people as stick thin and lanky as Potter, and this was not it. "Try telling Pans that's off the rack," he says, giving in to his desire to laugh. Breaking his straight face seems to make Potter think he can too, and they are grinning at each other as they step off the elevator. "Only warn me first, I'll want to sell tickets."

"My eyes!" wails Pansy. Draco can see her and Blaise, who is somehow pulling off a gold suit jacket, standing nearby. They’re on the outside of the group of employees milling about in the lobby waiting for their cue to file to the bus. She has a hand raised to her face, the other gesturing toward them dramatically. "Oh, my _eyes_ , I don't know how you can stand it."

"What?" Potter asks, his face a mask of perfect innocence. "Draco doesn't look that bad, does he?"

***

The only good thing to come from the lunch is the alcohol. Whatever catering company they hired seems to specialize in the kind of sandwiches with names like "two mustard & glazed ham" written on cards in a fancy script, prepared the night before so the bread has gone a bit soggy and the vegetables are wilted. The desserts are just the wrong side of not good and the Muzak piped through the speakers in the background gets old fast.

Since it's a celebration of a completed project there are awards to present, and special thank yous, and that's how Draco finds himself in his third glass of wine on a possibly too empty stomach watching Potter, flushed at being singled out, shaking hands with the executives.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Pansy says flatly. Draco looks over at her. She _seems_ fine but with Pansy that doesn't mean much.

"You don't look it," he says.

"Only because you can't see what your face is doing. Here, Blaise," she says, tapping him on the shoulder. "Look at Draco's face and tell me you don't feel sick."

Blaise glances back at them, the gold of today's eyeliner flashing. Behind him Draco can see Potter being made to stand awkwardly at the front while one of the executives has their hand on his shoulder, extolling his virtues to the group.

"Yeah, okay, yeah, Pansy is right. Put that expression away Draco, nobody wants to see it."

"What expression?" he asks, feeling a hot flush suffuse his cheeks. "This is my normal face. Being normal." He reaches for his glass just to have something to do, starting in surprise when it's closer than he thought and he nearly knocks it over.

Thankfully Pansy manages to catch it before it does anything horribly embarrassing like tipping over, or smashing on the ground. "I think that's enough for you then," she says, and possibly the most concerning part of the afternoon is that she isn't laughing.

"But," says Draco as he makes a grab for the glass, "but, but-"

"Getting smashed in front of clients is on the list of things not to do at parties," Pansy says gently, placing it on a nearby table and more importantly out of his reach. The audience applauds for Potter again and there is another round of handshakes on the stage.

"I wouldn't be smashed on three glasses of wine," grumbles Draco, crossing his arms and certainly not sulking.

"On the amount of food you've eaten?" Pansy asks, as Potter makes it back to their tables.

"Brave of you mate," Weasley says at the next table over clapping louder.

"Oh?" says Potter, staring at the heavy glass trophy in his hands as though he's never seen one before.

"Yeah," says Weasley, gesturing with his free hand. "Getting up in front of everyone in your birthday suit."

Even Pansy and Blaise join in on the groan that rises from the assembled group but Draco finds his breath caught in his throat. All this time he's been thinking about Potter wearing clothing, wearing all this incredibly well fitting, fashionable clothing, when he _could_ have been thinking about what Potter would look like-

As though from a distance he hears Pansy sigh and say "I think he's broken again, Blaise. It's your turn to deal with this -- I'm getting more wine."

"C'mon Draco," Blaise says, snagging Draco's phone off the table and swiping in his password. Draco didn't know Blaise knew his password, nor where he'd carefully hidden Wordscapes, but in short order his phone with the game loaded is pressed into his hands. "We've got another hour before we're properly out, hold on that long at least."

***

Draco's suspicions that Granger is the one behind all the birthday plans are confirmed within seconds of their arriving at a bar that seems modeled after a 50s style dance club, with a stage for a band at one end, a bar at the other, and booths and tables ringing the dance floor on two levels. They're led to a long, tall table off to the side and Draco makes sure to install himself as near to the bar and as far from Potter as possible. There aren't many patrons yet given that most respectable, responsible office types would only just now be getting off work but their group is already well lubricated and cause enough noise to make up the difference.

"To Harry!" yells Weasley when a round of shots shows up along with their first drinks.

"To Harry!" the crowd echos, and Draco lets himself say Harry this once. Potter downs his shot joyfully, and then is hidden behind bodies crowding around him to slap him on the back or shout gleefully that his next drink is on them.

Things become… messy, after that. Shareable appetizers appear like magic on their table whenever it looks like things are getting low -- wings and nachos and chips and some kind of flatbread. Drinks seem to appear almost before the old ones are finished, and before long the crew surrounding Potter starts singing along at top volume to the songs playing through the sound system.

Draco nurses the beer Pansy forced him to order - he's never been a huge fan of beer and it's doing a good job of slowing him down - while talking to whoever happens to drift in and out of the sphere of conversation. Blaise disappears at some point, only to reappear at Ginny's elbow, and Pansy drifts off to speak with the tattooed bartender. This leaves Draco free to instruct Dean at length about how he supports the wrong football team without risking the sighs and eye rolls of his friends.

"But I _can't_ support Arsenal!" Dean protests as Seamus nods along vigorously. "Mum would disown me, and I wouldn't get through Christmas without her pudding!"

Faced with such stubborn refusal of logic, Draco shakes his head, downs the dregs of his beer in one go, and heads off to Pansy and her bartender to try and order another.

"We're busy," she says as soon as he opens his mouth.

"I just wanted-" Draco tries, but when Pansy and the bartender both glare at him he holds his hands up in front of him and backs away.

"Draco!" yells Potter, draping himself across Draco's shoulders like some sort of horribly warm koala. "Draco you don't have a _drink_ c'mon Dan's brilliant he'll get you set up with one straight off."

Draco is unprepared for the sneak attack of the obviously buzzed and on his way to being properly smashed Potter. He tries very hard not to focus on how warm his back is suddenly, and how exceedingly nice it is to be steered by someone who is essentially hugging him from behind. It is possible to continue to exist when his spirit has left not only his body, but this entire plane of existence? He feels it must be. How else is he still here?

They find Dan at the other end of the bar, sending three girls on their way with their drinks and a wink. Dan has blond hair and silvery eye shadow and a vest that shows off arms with incredibly well sculpted muscles. Draco is suddenly very conscious of his own arms, severely undermuscled by comparison, hidden under his white dress shirt.

"Dan!" says Potter, bounding up to the bar. Draco registers that he's taken off the jacket of his suit, and rolled up his dress shirt sleeves, and loosened his tie and undone the top button. He looks like the poster child for ‘please oh please teach me the meaning of the word ‘debauched’’ and judging by the expression on Dan's face, Dan agrees with Draco's assessment. "Dan, this is my friend Draco!"

"Oh?" asks Dan, giving Draco an assessing look. Draco tries really hard to look like the kind of friend who would mean Dan has no chance with Potter at all, but it's clear from the way the smile spreads across his face that Dan isn't buying it. "It’s a pleasure," Dan murmurs before turning his hundred watt smile back to Potter. "Well then, what'll it be?"

"Two of whatever you made last time, on _his_ tab!"

The twitch in Dan's smile is so small Draco would have missed it if he wasn't watching for it. He frowns slightly as Dan starts assembling things on the counter, putting on a bit of a show. Potter doesn't seem to notice, instead turning to Draco and saying "Dan made me a _killer_ drink! For my birthday! It looks radioactive, honest, and it tastes like summertime!"

"You've had several of them, then?" Draco asks, suspecting the answer to be yes.

Potter laughs, which isn't an answer, and slings his arm back around Draco's shoulders. _Oh_ , thinks Draco, because now the skin of Potter's forearm is pressed against the back of Draco's neck and that is the sum total of what he is capable of thinking. He waits a few seconds and tries to think something, anything at all, but all he can manage is another _oh_.

There is conversation and music happening in the world that exists outside the six inch square where their bodies are joined, and Potter keeps prattling on about the drinks being conjured on the counter in front of them. They certainly are green. Somehow they seem to match Potter's eyes.

"Cheers, Dan!" Potter says when Dan pronounces them done. He takes his arm off Draco's shoulder and Draco knows he shouldn't feel like crying out at the loss but he does. Suppressing the urge he nods his thanks to Dan the bartender, clinks his glass with Potter's, and takes a sip. If Potter has had more than one of these, well, no wonder he's being so _tactile_.

They make their way back to the table and it's the most natural thing in the world to be drawn into the conversation Potter joins, arguing over which of McGonagall or Snape would win in an MMA style fight. No one has actually delivered a verdict by the time someone brings out a very large cake absolutely littered with candles, and the argument is put on hold so they can all sing/yell the words to Happy Birthday at Potter.

The icing on the cake somehow manages to be less sweet than the bright green drink Draco has started thinking of as the Potter, but Draco dutifully eats his slice until Ginny screams "The band is starting!" loud enough to be heard over the house music. Draco finds himself awash with questions - when did they get there? When did they do their warmup? What time is it anyways? He glares at the Potter in his hand as it is clearly responsible for his present state. Ginny misses breaking her plate by millimeters as she sets it on the edge of the table and grabs Potter's hand, dragging him into the middle of the room as the first bars of music start up.

"Harry's dancing in his birthday suit!" Weasley yells, delighted. The rest of their group is decidedly less impressed with the joke this time.

"It's only half his suit, really," Seamus points out, and that kicks off another round of pointless arguing about what, exactly, constitutes a suit.

Draco finds himself suddenly worn out from all the socializing and disengages from the conversation, slipping onto one of the tall chairs. He braces his elbows on the table on either side of his drink protectively just in case anyone decides to steal it and lets his attention wander. As he idly scans the dance floor he finds his eyes drawn, unsurprisingly, to Potter's gyrating form as a magnet to a lodestone. He's not exactly a _good_ dancer but what he lacks in skill he makes up for with enthusiasm and Ginny, to her credit, is making that enthusiasm work.

"Oh don't look so glum," Neville slurs in his ear, causing Draco to start and nearly knock over his Potter. "We're _celebrating_ , Draco, you should be _happy_!"

"I am happy!" Draco protests weakly.

"Sure you are," Blaise says, following his line of sight to Potter, now twirling Granger to some upbeat tune before shimmying, honest to God _shimmying_ , so that his tie shakes between them and Granger shrieks with laughter. He's sweating from the heat and exertion, and he reaches up with one of his incredibly nice hands to press his incredibly nice glasses more firmly on his nose.

Draco could have lived a happy life without seeing that image with his own two eyes. He bites back a moan. Beside him, Blaise laughs.

"You know," Blaise begins, and Draco recognizes that tone.

"No," Draco says, so sharply that Neville looks up from where he's been shredding a coaster. "No!" says Draco, louder, but not loud enough to drown out Blaise's "Potter doesn't clean up half bad, does he."

"No, nonono, nonononono," Draco protests but Blaise is already gone, gliding toward the dance floor. The crowd parts to let him through, the way crowds always do for the tosser, and when Potter next reaches out to twirl Granger he finds Blaise's hand instead. There's a moment where Draco can see the indecision in Potter's eyes but then, heaven help him, Potter glances toward where Draco is sitting and grins, grins like the little _shit_ he is, and twirls Blaise.

Blaise laughs and returns the favour and now the two of them are dancing like their lives depend on it. There isn't a single person on the dancefloor who can compete with Blaise, and to add insult to injury he has some sort of innate talent for making his partners look almost as good as he does. Potter is a work of art, and Draco wants to stop existing for a few minutes. Feelings are exhausting.

"You alright there, Draco?" asks Neville, his honest round face full of honest round concern. For a few brief seconds Draco wants nothing more than to punch him for disturbing his contemplation of life's highest art form before rationality exerts itself. It is hard to stay mad at ernest Neville for long.

"I'm fine," Draco sighs mournfully.

"Right," Neville says. "And I'm McGonagall's long lost son."

"She had a son?"

Neville laughs, patting his shoulder. It doesn't make Draco's world freeze quite the same way Potter's arm had but it's nice all the same. "Don't mope Draco, I'm sure everything will sort itself out. You'll see."

Draco looks at the now-empty glass in front of him, and the empty one in front of Neville. "I am too sober to be having this conversation with you," he says, enunciating clearly to prove exactly how sober he is.

"I feel the same," Neville says. "Next round on me?"

"Yes."

"But don't think this means I'm willing to talk about your enormous infatuation with-"

"Neville?"

"Yes?"

"Drinks. Now."


	6. saturday

The harsh sound of metal sliding along metal is all the warning he gets before his room is flooded with sunlight as someone throws open his curtains.

"Up!" Pansy orders in a thousand voices that reverberate painfully inside his head. More words follow that one they could be "Get up now you lazy bastard" but the syllables are so jumbled together that he'd rather not think about them.

"Mrgm," he grumbles, shoving his head further under his pillow where it's dark.

Pansy steals the pillow because she's a horrible person. "No," she says firmly, as though scolding a dog. "No, Draco, you are going to wake up, and get out of bed, and come shopping."

He feels rather like he's died. He tries to express this to Pansy but doesn't manage anything more articulate than a series of progressively slower groans. Pansy sniffs. "Wake up, get out of bed, have a shower, _brush your teeth_ , and come shopping," she amends. "Now, are you getting up or do I need to call in-"

"Mmraaam," Draco groans, heaving himself up on his arms. He has to pause there, waiting for the room to stop spinning, and he notices that he's still wearing the button shirt from the night before, only half unbuttoned.

"Hopeless," says Pansy, pointing at the pills and water on his bedside table. It's a few minutes before he can coordinate his hands well enough to pick them up. "Fifteen minutes, Draco. I've made us a brunch reservation."

The thought of food makes his stomach feel unwell, but not sufficiently so that he wants to try his luck at getting between Pansy and a brunch reservation. He uses the hand not clutching the glass of water to gesture her out of his room. Thankfully she leaves, and he flops back to steal three more minutes of horizontal relief.

It isn't quite the worst hangover he's ever had but it is definitely knocking on the door of the top ten. He is fairly sure he can remember most of the night before - he remembers talking with Dean about football, and singing to Potter, and Potter dancing (as though he'll ever manage to forget that) but once he reaches the talk with Neville things get a bit fuzzy. He knows they spoke, at great length even, but the subject of their discussion remains a mystery. He's surprised at his past self. He and Neville have never had an especially close relationship but who knows, this might prompt a change.

He manages to make it to the bathroom, but his stomach rebels so hard that he is reduced to lying down on the cool tile of the floor. At the point where he feels the rebellion getting ready to overthrow the rest of his brain he sits up and heaves into the toilet.

"Let that be a lesson in overindulgence," Pansy says unsympathetically from the open door. She has another glass of water in her hand. Draco takes it, swirls it around his mouth, and spits. "Honestly, I know you-"

"Look," Draco interrupts. "Can we lay off the "make fun of Draco" train for like, half an hour? Please?" He doesn't want to think about how pitiful he must look that she says nothing else but spins on her heel and walks out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

It takes him half an hour to work his way through showering, throwing up a second time, brushing his teeth and putting on clothing. The first outfit he selects (a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a cardigan, sneakers) is rejected before he's even set both feet in the living room. "You look like pre-Tuesday Potter," Pansy yells at his retreating back.

"I'm not wearing any eyeliner!" Draco retorts, but he obligingly changes into something more in line with her ideas of what is fashionable.

"Better," she announces. "Now call us a cab."

***

The brunch helps, and by the time they've arrived at the mall Draco almost feels like looking at the clothing on the racks for himself instead of simply holding Pansy's bags while she coos over shirts, scarves, jackets and dresses. After stopping for afternoon coffee, and to drop off Pansy's purchases with the premium shoppers maitre d', he does join in, enjoying the slide of new fabric over his skin as he changes into and out of shirts, trousers, jeans and sweaters.

"Going to go Potter on me?" she asks him when she catches him eyeing a pair of suspenders.

"Hmm?" he asks, only half paying attention. He's seen similar suspenders to these in magazines and on runways of late. If Potter can wear a vest with no worse than gentle ribbing, Draco can surely wear a pair of suspenders, can't he? He certainly _can't_ be shown up in the workplace by a recent arrival on the fashion scene.

"Oh stop drooling and try them on," Pansy sighs. "I don't want to spend the whole cab ride back hearing about this."

He follows her instructions. It takes a few attempts to get things aligned evenly, but when he finally does he finds he likes what he sees in the mirror. He cuffs his jeans a few times and likes what he sees even more.

"You aren't going to stop there, are you?" Pansy asks, bringing him an arm full of shirts, and by the time he's ready to leave the store he has a total of three sets of suspenders of different widths and colours, two new shirts, a bow tie of all things, and a new hat.

He leads the way back to the maitre d' but Pansy says, "Oh but Draco, it's nearly supper time!" so they change course and wander toward one of the more upscale restaurants in the place. They're shown to a table from which they can look over the railing and observe as those still shopping go about their business.

After brunch Draco would have been ready to swear he wouldn't be hungry for at least a week but he falls on his pulled pork as though he hadn't eaten all day. Pansy takes a few sips of her wine before she starts eating her pasta and they enjoy a companionable silence until Pansy spoils it by saying "So last night-"

"I don't want to know," Draco says, shoulders hunching up around his shoulders. "Do you think I should wear the suspenders straight off on Monday?"

"You should borrow my eyeliner for Monday," Pansy answers, "But Draco, really, don't think you can get out of this conversation."

"Do we have to have it?" he asks. "I mean, it's, it's not going to cause a problem, it hasn't before, this week has just been-"

He breaks off at Pansy's expression. "So last night," she begins again remorselessly, "You couldn't take your eyes off Potter-"

"I'm aware," he mutters moodily.

"And he tried to get you to dance. Twice."

Draco freezes. Now that she's mentioned it he can hazily recall backing away from Potter's outstretched hands, the confused frown, Neville saying something, Potter grinning but it appearing dimmer than before. There's an even fuzzier memory that must be later, somehow, and it's Pansy's laugh in his ear, saying something that has Potter looking so hopelessly fond that Draco wants to examine the expression at a close range, kissing all his favourite bits.

"Why did you have to remind me?" he asks, mortified, wishing his food was done so he could lay his head on the table without fear of getting pulled pork in his hair. "I could have gone to work blissfully unaware-"

"As though you'd be happier finding out about it when Weasley brings it up," Pansy says, rolling her eyes.

"Aaarg," Draco says with feeling.

"Exactly." Pansy takes another bite of her pasta, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing. Draco finds he doesn't want to even try to force food past the lump in his throat.

Forewarned is forearmed however, and Pansy is right. This gives him time to come up with a Plan. He just has to figure out what that plan is.


	7. monday (again)

"Did a magazine chew you up and spit you out?" asks Blaise by way of greeting.

"I would have thought you'd be happy I put a touch more effort into my appearance," Draco says, adopting a loftier expression than he properly feels comfortable with. He tries and fails not to adjust the set of the suspenders on his shoulder. He can't seem to get them to sit the way they do in magazines, but damned if he's going to let other people know that without a fight.

Blaise grunts noncommittally, and sweeps past him to wherever it is he's going. Draco shakes his head and walks to his desk, trying to appear normal and not unreasonably nervous. No one else comments but he can't be sure anybody is looking.

He makes it to his desk without incident and has five whole minutes with just him and his coffee to psych himself up for McGonagall's meeting. Potter is going to be there, the same as he always is, and he's probably going to be wearing eyeliner and something straight off a runway. Draco feels better prepared knowing it's coming, but not quite enough to expose himself to it before he absolutely has to.

His phone has only just ticked over to 9:00 when he slips into the meeting room, leaning against the back wall in a way that lets him see without being in anyone's direct line of sight. Potter is predictably sitting between Granger and Weasley, head bowed, hair either tousled or styled to look that way. With Potter's hair it’s always hard to tell. Draco can't see whether or not he's wearing eyeliner but that doesn't stop him from feeling slightly out of place. He is a touch too fancy for the room, and will be until Blaise shows up his standard five minutes late.

By the end of the meeting Potter is confirmed makeup-less and sporting a style that is, while not as slovenly as his pre-eyeliner days, certainly nowhere near as fashion-forward as he had been dressing previously. Draco isn't sure whether to be disappointed at the poor showing from Potter or pleased that he can now follow a thought from beginning to end without being distracted by collar bones, or eyes, or long expanses of neck. The framework of it is all there, but now that he thinks about it, and Draco certainly has been thinking about it, it's… it's nice, to have Potter looking like Potter again.

He looks like the Potter that Draco has fallen in- in, _fondness_ with, Draco thinks firmly, catching that train of thought and throwing the switch firmly to make sure it doesn't go haring off in a very dangerous direction. He is _fond_ of Potter, and his floppy hair, and his knobbly hands, and his goofy smile.

"Have an interview today?" asks Weasley as the meeting wraps up and they dutifully file out.

"Does no one in this office have any original jokes?" Draco asks the room at large with a sniff.

"No one answer that," Potter says. "We have to build the _suspense_." Just to drive the point home, he makes a motion that resembles snapping a pair of suspenders and waggles his eyebrows.

Even the chorus of groans that ensue cannot dim Potter's glee at his incredibly feeble attempt at a joke. Draco shakes his head and slides out of the meeting room, ready to take on another day of battling server configurations and exterminating bugs.

***

 _**Blaise [10:05]:** _ _You okay if Potter and Longbottom join us for lunch?_

Draco blinks at the message on his screen. He's not sure if it's stranger that Potter and Neville agreed to lunch with Blaise, or if Blaise went and asked them about it. He knows better than to send the message he wants to send ("????" has been met in the past with "I know you can read, and I was very clear") and pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He likes Potter well enough, and after Friday he feels he probably owes Neville, so why does he have a strange sense of foreboding?

 _**Draco [10:07]:** _ _Yes of course_

***

He's waiting by the doors to the elevator with Blaise when Weasley sticks his head out from the meeting room across the hall and says "Neville, Zabini, in here, now, we need to figure out how to triage the monster bug from Project Fridge."

"You need Blaise for that?" Draco asks, eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Project sponsor," Blaise sighs.

"Product owner!" Granger corrects, loudly, from inside the room. Everyone winces.

"Why do we have to have titles that change all the time," grumbles Neville as he follows Ron.

"Do you need-?" begins Potter, but Neville and Blaise wave him off.

"No, no, you go get started, we'll only be a few minutes," Neville says, unconvincingly.

"We will, right Weasley?" says Blaise, far more convincingly.

"Er, yes, right, of course," Weasley says.

Draco smells something fishy, but Potter is looking at him hopefully. "I was really looking forward to their baked mac ‘n cheese," Potter says, a faint pleading tone in his voice.

"Out of all the foods you could choose, you go for the mac ‘n cheese," Draco sighs.

"It has lobster in it!" Potter protests.

"We'll catch you later," Blaise says, reaching for the door. "Have fun." He slides the door shut and Draco listens to Potter defend his mac ‘n cheese choice all the way down the elevator and out onto the street.

By the time they arrive at the restaurant they've shifted the discussion to ranking the free snacks available in the kitchen and betting who is going to post the next yellow sticky with a passive-aggressive note for a coworker and, for bonus points, what it will be about.

The weather is lovely, the sun hot and bright, and the patio umbrellas provide just enough shade to avoid being blinded. They each order their food and drink, then fall back into an easy rhythm as they chat about the football highlights they can see through the window on the television over the bar. The conversation meanders as they eat, as they order another round of drinks, as they decide they're going to split one of the slices of cake.

"I never did eat any on Friday," Potter laughs as he spears his first bite.

"I did," Draco admits, "But this one is much better," and between the two of them they demolish it. Draco forces Potter to take the last bite with his best impression of Ron, saying "It was your birthday, mate." Potter laughs, as Draco had planned, then sobers, which was not in the plan.

"Guess it was a bit of an issue then, eh? Whatever Ron was working on?"

Draco can't tell if he's taking the piss or not. "Guess so," he says, taking a sip of his beer. Their food is done and his glass is half empty meaning they've reached the critical stage of the lunch where they have to decide if it's worth going back to the office. Draco would happily stay in this moment for the rest of his life, sitting across a table from a Potter so golden he is practically glowing, but it really isn't solely his decision.

From the way Potter is fidgeting with the remains of his coaster Draco feels he can guess what side Potter will come down on. "So should we," he starts, as Potter says "Listen," and they both break into a round of ‘no, you go first’s which Draco eventually wins.

"Alright so here's the thing," Potter says, serious and almost solemn. "It's not getting announced officially until Wednesday but I've been telling the people who I want to hear it from me."

Nothing good ever starts with a sentence like that. Sentences like that lead to the speaker leaving the team, sometimes the group, sometimes even the _company_ nine times out of ten, and Draco finds himself unable to properly face the thought of an office without Potter in it on a measly two and a half beers.

"I've got a job in the Network Security group lined up; they want me to start in two weeks. Comes with a bump too, and I'll be doing more penetration testing." His expression is so earnest and open Draco wants to cry or possibly punch something. He fights to keep from doing either and takes another sip of his beer instead. Network security really _is_ a better fit -- Potter is so enamoured with looking for technical vulnerabilities, but it doesn't mean his loss won't be keenly felt.

"I'm sad to be leaving the team, don't get me wrong," Potter continues hastily, before Draco can even squeeze in his societally indoctrinated and only partly sincere ‘congratulations!’ "But I'm also kind of glad, because I have a rule about dating coworkers, and this means we won't be coworkers anymore, so I mean, if you wanted to? It kind of felt like you did, or do, but if I've read this wrong at least you only have to put up with me for two more weeks?"

Draco tries to take another swallow of beer and completely misses his mouth. It spills all down the front of his previously pristinely-white button down shirt and he barely notices. "What?" he asks.

"Um," says Harry, pointing. "You've got a bit of… just there, you know."

"What?" Draco asks again, since Harry obviously wasn't listening the first time. "What did you ask?"

"Oh you heard me," Harry says, flushing. "Look, I'm not taking the piss or anything so there's no need to make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun!" Draco says in a rush. "Promise! No, look really! It's just… I'm having a hard time believing my ears right now."

"Well I _tried_ to get you to dance," Harry says, and the flush has crept all the way up his cheeks. Draco lets himself think about wanting to kiss it there, all along the top of his ridiculous cheekbones, because Harry isn't going to be his teammate anymore and has asked if he wanted to go on a date. "But you kept saying no, so I thought… but then Neville said-"

"I really, really do not want to know what Neville claims I said while inebriated," Draco says loftily. "I'm sure it was nothing incriminating at all."

"Oh, no, he just said I should try again after I told you I was leaving." A dawning look of realization breaks across Harry's face. "They set us up! Him and Blaise! And Ron! Him too!"

"They did," Draco agrees, happier than he has been in a long time. He doesn't even mind that Harry looks put out by the fact their coworkers set them up so effectively. Harry has asked him on a date! Harry Potter! A date! Their friends might be annoying and meddlesome but for once he can't bring himself to care much. It all worked out, didn't it? And that's when he gets the idea. Grinning, he pulls out his phone. "Up for a little retaliatory action?"

Unsurprisingly Harry is, so Draco shuffles his chair around until he and Harry are sitting practically side by side and holds the phone out "What are you doing?" Harry asks with a hint of suspicion, eyeing it.

"Trust me?"

And Harry does.

[[Image: A screenshot of a phone. The top message is an image of two men sitting on a patio, one kissing the other on the cheek as the picture is taken. The caption reads: "Going to take a long lunch. Have fun with the project fridge triage!" with a kissing face emoji. The second message, from Ron, reads: GROOOOOOSSSSS. The third, from Neville, reads: About time, wondered if I'd have to go over after all and bash your heads together for you. The fourth, from Blaise, reads: Use protection]]


	8. coda

The scene plays out every morning without fail. The elevator doors open, Draco steps out, Harry's hand still in his. Harry takes two steps forward, leaving a hand to hold the elevator doors, and the two share a kiss that by anyone's measure of the situation should be a chaste peck. The scene is so domestic that it makes Neville want to claw his eyes out any time he makes the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Draco's wearing a thick green scarf today, dusted with snow, and Harry takes his hand away from the elevator door to cup Draco's cold-reddened cheek before the daily ‘Have a good day at work, dear’ kiss. It feels far too intimate a moment to be having in an elevator lobby; Neville looks away only to catch Blaise hovering in the door of the meeting room he's booked to hash out the next sprint of Project Fridge. Blaise is gazing after them.

"Did we do the right thing?" Neville asks, impressed that Blaise doesn't even bat an eyelash in the face of their obvious display of affection. "Unleashing this much saccharine nonsense on the world?"

"I don't care," Blaise replies. "If I had to listen to three more seconds of ‘Potter this’ or ‘Potter that’ I was going to throw myself off the roof. I'm honestly not sure either of them would've done anything without a push."

He has a point there. Neville had listened to enough about Draco from Harry, not to mention listened to _Ron_ complaining about hearing about Draco from Harry. He had been ready to do almost anything to get it to stop. It was sheer luck when he ended up alongside Draco during Harry's party and accidentally planted the seed for the idea, and a wonderful convergence in the universe when Blaise had suggested the lunch plan.

In the vestibule Harry ducks back into the elevator and Draco, cheeks reddening from more than just the cold, taps his pass on the mag-lock to enter the office floor. He catches sight of Blaise and Neville and tilts his chin higher with a haughty sniff. "Enjoy the show?"

"Hardly," Blaise says carelessly. "I've seen better on the telly".

Draco hasn't finished his coffee yet and has no comeback. He glares at Blaise balefully and stalks off down the hall to his desk, ignoring the laughter that follows him. "Is it too early to start the pool for when their wedding will be?" Blaise asks, still chuckling.

"Ginny's got one going already," Neville answers, walking over to the whiteboard and picking up the marker. "I'm sure she'll be happy to take your money. Now, If we add a load balancer to the network..."


End file.
